


Above the Surf, Below the Waves

by themakersruin (TKHikaru13)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Lighthouses, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Selkies, Thank you Tag Wranglers, Y'all fucking ready to learn about lighthouses?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2020-09-07 19:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20315107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TKHikaru13/pseuds/themakersruin
Summary: Legend has it if you hold a selkie's skin, you can keep them on land forever.In all her years keeping the Cape Hydaelyn Lighthouse, Hen's never met a selkie.But she's inclined to believe the stranger who washed ashore during the squall might be one.





	1. Squall

**Author's Note:**

> 50% of this was written because the Cornvocation discord practically begged me for it, the other 50% is so I could make the pun Emet-Selkie.
> 
> You're welcome.

The first sound Hen hears every morning is the waves crashing, and it is the last thing she hears before falling asleep. This morning does not differ from the last as she pulls the covers off, feet finding their boots. It is however, colder this sun. Hen shivers as she gets out of bed, simply pulling her peacoat over her nightshirt. By the time she’s halfway up the stairs the shivers are gone.

“Good morning.” she yawns. The previous lightkeeper often teased her about greeting the lamp and lens, but she does it anyway. The devices may not speak back, but they work as hard as she does and in Hen’s mind, they deserve a greeting.

The light is still bright, long after she’d turned the lamp on, the crystals within the fuel container dimming and evaporating. As much as they may not be the most cost effective fuel, crystals seem to be the longest lasting and the most durable fuel, her letter to Merlwyb is without a doubt going to contain the phrase ‘you were right’ and the thought sours Hen’s stomach.

The lens turns and will continue to do so until sunrise if the weather is kind. Taking a step forward, Hen plucks her spyglass from her coat. The sea’s quiet this morning, soft waves and gentle winds. She hopes it’ll stay this way, but knows to prepare for the worst. But for now, her work up here is complete, and she’s awake enough to recognize the ache of hunger.

* * *

A change of clothes later and breakfast this morning is a slightly fancier affair; the end of her loaf of bread dipped in a mixture of beaten eggs, the last of the milk and cinnamon and fried in the skillet along with bacon and sausage. Hen’s halfway through the sausage and her cup of coffee when there’s a knock at the door.

‘_The tender’s not due for another sun…_’ Yet she’s up in a flash, mug still in hand as she opens the door.

“Ah, hello miss Morrison.” The door’s not even open all the way and Hen has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Thancred is a strange man, claiming to be a scholar despite the knives at his belt and insisting he’s not flirting with her despite the flowery words. Hen leans against the doorframe, hoping her expression comes across as mild irritation, not hostility.

“What do you want?” She asks, gods it’s not even noon, and she already sounds tired to her own ears. There’s a flicker of something (Apprehension? Uncertainty?) in Thancred’s eyes for only a moment, before they twinkle again.

“What? Can I not give you a courtesy call?” He asks, all fake smiles.

“I live on a rock malms away from the mainland, there’s no courtesy calls here, just deliveries or urgent messages. Which one are you?”

Thancred deflates, shoulders sagging before rising with a sigh. “Have you noticed anything unusual? Disappearances, kidnappings or anything of that like?” he asks, a note of desperation in his voice.

“No. I haven’t.” Hen replies. “I’m the lightkeeper, my attention is on the lighthouse and anyone unlucky enough to wash up here.” Thancred sighs, sounding frustrated by… something. He turns to leave, but pauses.

“Ah before I forget.” at that, there’s a basket all but thrust into her arms. She can identify at least two different oils, not to mention matchboxes and wrapped sprigs of what seems to be lavender. “I hoped that bringing a few things before the tender arrived would be a welcome gesture.”

“Well you’re right, I was starting to run low on matchsticks.” Hen replies. “Thank you.” Thancred merely smiles.

“Well, it seems this trip wasn’t all to waste, walk in the light of the crystal miss Morrison.” with a wave, Thancred turns, form shimmering before disappearing. Times like these are the ones where Hen wishes the Maelstrom would build an aetheryte on the island, it would make travel easier and perhaps... things a little less lonely.

But there’s no time to ruminate on her solitude, there’s work to be done and little time to do it in.

* * *

The basket as it turned out, contained a lot more than oil and lavender. Thancred had seen fit to include two rolls of bandages, sewing thread, dried meats, and among other things, a wrapped parcel of ginger cookies. Cookies that were well appreciated once afternoon rolled around, tucked into a coat pocket as Hen wound the clockwork that turned the lens. At least two gears were beginning to rust, she’d need to inform the tender when they arrived.

By the time the chronometer read the third bell, Hen could tell a storm was coming. Somehow, for as long as she could recall, Hen simply knew when storms would arrive. Perhaps it was seeing something different in the clouds, or feeling the drop in temperature.

Whatever it was, her sixth sense never failed her and no sooner had she brought in the laundry from the clothesline outside, the wind began picking up. Hen merely sighs as she sets the basket down on the table. “Suppose we’re lighting the lamp early tonight.” she murmurs.

Before, lighting the lamp was a simple job. Pour in the oil and light the wick. Now however, is different. Admiral Merlwyb had seen fit to permit an experiment; were crystals a suitable fuel source for lighthouses? Cape Hydaelyn Light was simply one of a handful of lighthouses taking part in the experiment, gifted a crate of fire crystals and specific instructions.

Instructions that came easy to Hen, much to her own surprise. Deposit crystals into the fuel container and activate with a touch of aether. The magic number as it turned out, seemed to be around twelve. When one was drained, it would evaporate and the lamp would pull from the rest until there were no more.

The moment the lamp was lit, Hen activates the lens. There was something magical about it, seeing the lamp and lens come to life, light spreading for malms beyond and ensuring the mariners came to port safely. And she kept the light safe so it would burn another day. Alone on the island, yet with the light by her side, Hen didn’t feel lonely.

Thunder roars, breaking the lightkeeper from her reverie. Hen looks out to the ocean, levinstrikes lighting up the clouds just beyond the cape. She sighs, pulling her coat closer around her.

Hopefully the storm isn’t as bad as it looks.

* * *

The storm, as luck would have it, is just as nasty as she feared it would be. The wind’s strong enough to get the weaker boards rattling outside, rain pounding down in sheets so thick she’s almost worried that there will be leaks.

When Hen was younger, she’d worry storms could tear the lighthouse to shreds. But she’s a grown woman now, she knows better. But as the candle light sways, Hen can’t help but reflect on her childhood fears.

She’s about to test the taste of her lobster stew when she hears it. A scream, distant yet distinct. ‘ _ That’s...I didn’t hear any- _ ’ Hen’s springing into action anyway, pot pulled from the burner and coat thrown onto her body. A simple Fire lights the lantern as she pulls her hat over her head and steps out into the night.

The storm that greets her is a malicious thing, the howling wind poised to sweep her away if the rain doesn’t chill her to the bone in mere moments. Hen can hardly see past her own hand, but her feet carry her forward almost instinctively.

“H-HEY!” her voice is drowned out by the wind, lantern sputtering. “I’M HERE!”

Beneath the roar of the ocean and wind, she hears it. A cry from the rocks. Hen stumbles forward as fast as she can, following the direction of the sound. She sees it less than thirty paces from the water, the body slumped over and clinging to ground. Hen prays to the Twelve the ocean won’t take them before she can reach them, falling to her knees just shy of the waves. This close, she can vaguely make out the shape of a man, fur coat concealing most of his body from her.

“I’m here now, don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be fine.” she babbles, the ocean water biting as she reaches for under his arms, pulling him up. The man is little more than dead weight, gasping for breath as she pulls him up from the water. It feels like an eternity before she’s pulled him free from the sea, dry land welcoming under her feet.

She lets go of the stranger long enough to hoist an arm over her shoulder, pulling him up.

“Come on mister, can’t drag you all the way back.” Hen grunts, rising. The man doesn’t respond verbally, yet his feet take up some of the burden from her, making the walk back a touch easier.

* * *

No sooner are they inside does the man faint, almost falling to the floor when Hen is forced to carry all the weight. She manages to get him next to the fireplace through a combination of pushing and rolling. Getting the wet clothing off is a task in of itself, the stranger fighting her at every turn to keep that strange fur coat on. She lets him, hoping it’ll dry out quickly. Removing his waistcoat reveals a deep wound in his side, from a rock or something else she’s uncertain.

Hen’s not the best nurse or sewer, but she manages to close the wound. The tender will have to look at it when they arrive. For now, her priority is to keep the both of them warm. The stranger gets two spare blankets to go with his odd fur coat and she wraps herself in her favored quilt and dry clothing.

Finally able to breathe, Hen can get a good look at him. She wouldn’t call the stranger handsome per se, but he’s certainly striking. The lines of his face are hard, nose curving in a way she’s never seen on anyone else. His hair is dark, in the dim firelight she can’t make out a specific color, save for the stripe of white close to his forehead.

She’s sure he’d be taller than her if he were standing up, she estimates at least a fulm. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, yet Hen refuses to pull her eyes from him, as if afraid he’ll stop breathing if she looks away.

But this close to the fire, its soothing warmth and crackling lullaby are a siren song. Hen inches closer, laying on her side next to the man. Her hand hesitates, before moving to rest over his chest.

A flash of silver catches her eye, the fur coat. She’s too drowsy to make out its pattern, but Hen can’t help but be reminded of a seal’s coat.


	2. Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning arrives, and Hen learns more about her strange guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMB: themakersruin where the fuck have you been?
> 
> Me: In a word: Hell.
> 
> Sorry to leave y'all hanging for nearly a month, myself and my family have been very busy with a move. First three weeks or so out of my former home were spent under the roof of a family member who...well let's just say she's a textbook narcissist and leave it at that.
> 
> Thankfully, my soul sibling and their family have welcomed me into their home, so hopefully I can work on this in a more time consistent manner.

For once, the first thing Hen is aware of isn’t the sound of the waves. It’s the feeling of warmth, enveloping her in a way she hasn’t felt in a long time. Sturdy yet… soft, she breathes in the smell of ocean water and something more… she can’t put a finger on it. Hen shifts closer, burrowing her nose into the warmth. The feeling of skin pulls her right out of drowsy comfort.

Hen scuttles backwards, only stopping when her back hits wood. It takes a moment or two for her to remember that the strange lump of blankets and fur is the man she rescued from the night before. She crawls forward slowly, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboards to get a better look. The steady rise and fall of his chest coaxes a sigh of relief from Hen, who leans back on her haunches.

A stray glance to the chronometer informs her it’s six in the morning, much later than she’d usually awaken. The floorboards creak as she scrambles for her boots and coat, throwing them on haphazardly in time with her hurried steps up the stairs.

Her typical ‘Good morning’ is stammered and breathless, a hand on the lens as she looks out to the ocean. This soon after a squall and the skies are still angry; clouds low with the wind whipping up the ocean into harsh waves. Hen bites at the inside of her mouth. If conditions remain as they are, the tender will likely delay their visit. She prays to the Navigator that the weather will turn, giving the lens a reassuring pat as she begins her way downstairs.

Today the lamp will remain on until the fog breaks.

* * *

A few steps from her living quarters and Hen hears a voice, her guest is awake. She passes through the doorway, her eyes scanning the area where she knew he was.

“Ah, and here I was worried my savior had disappeared.” the stranger’s voice is odd, the tone dripping with condescension despite his seemingly neutral words. Her gaze finds him sitting on the ottoman, wrapped in the blankets. His eyes are a deep piercing gold, the kind that demand all eyes fall towards his own. Now that he’s awake, she spots an earring hanging from the left ear. His ears aren’t as long as an elezen’s, but she can’t shake the feeling they’re pointed. He favors her with an odd look, as if he’s attempting to see down into the core of her.

“How curious…” he trails off, voice softening. The stranger tilts his head, before righting himself again. “Forgive me, I’ve a terrible habit of thinking aloud.” His lips turn upward, but the gesture doesn’t strike her as a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now then, care to tell me where you’ve hidden my clothes?”

Hen points a finger to the fireplace, clothing hanging from the ironing board. “Over there.” she murmurs, making her way to the stove. She manages a step past the stranger before fingers curl around her wrist in a firm grip. His hands lack calluses, yet the grip is as strong as a sailor’s as he forces her to turn to face him. His other hand finds her cheek, brushing just below her eyes.

“E-Excuse me?” she stammers. He strokes her sun-kissed skin with the care of a painter, thumb passing over her freckles.

“Your eyes... they’re gold.” he murmurs, giving Hen the distinct feeling she wasn’t supposed to hear him. But indeed, her eyes are gold, a shade akin to honey rather than the hue of his that brings to mind crowns.

“Mhm, and my hair’s red.” Hen replies, chafing under the scrutiny. She feels like a moth beneath a magnifying glass, the undivided attention thorough yet uncaring, distant. A finger finds a strand of her hair, thick yet brittle from years exposed to salt water. The floorboards creak beneath her feet. “Are you...done yet?” she hesitates, finding her apprehension uncharacteristic. The stranger looks her in the eye and Hen can’t help but wonder if his mind is elsewhere.

“Yes, yes I am.” the answer is seemingly an afterthought, but he lets go regardless. Hen takes a step back, attempting to quell the shudder threatening to run through her. He seems to take notice, face softening into a smile. “Forgive me. You…” he pauses, “Remind me of someone.”

Hen exhales, only now aware she was holding her breath. “Whenever you’re ready, you can put your clothes on, I’m making breakfast.” she turns, pointing to the unpainted door. “There’s the bathroom, change in there.”

There are no more words between them, but she doesn’t hear him get up until she’s rinsing out the coffee pot.

* * *

She’s looking through the icebox when she hears footsteps, the sound of a chair squeaking against the floorboards. Hen turns around, a soft smile on her face. “Good morning.” she greets. The stranger looks up at her. 

His clothing definitely brings to mind a noble, from the fine breeches to the decorative ruffles in his shirt. His fur coat is wrapped around him like a sash, if it didn’t come from the hide of a harbor seal then the tailors who made it are clearly mages working with fabric. He leans forward, hands beneath his chin as he cocks his head.

“Good morning. Certainly a quaint little hovel here isn’t it?” he asks. Were it not for the mischief in his eye, she’d almost swear he was smiling. Hen turns away from him to turn back to the ice box. She’s running low on milk, but there’s still bacon and eggs, definitely enough to make a serviceable breakfast. Hen plucks them from the ice box with a hum, pans already gathered.

“How do you like your eggs?” she asks, oiling the pan.

“Over easy.” comes the reply. “Granted I’ve a recipe I’m fond of, but I doubt you’d have the things for it here.”

“Try me.” she fires back, eggs sizzling as she sets the bacon down.

“Do you have salmon?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t make it.” There’s something akin to malicious glee in his voice, but she just sighs, monitoring the pan and the kettle.

“Coffee or tea?”

“Earl grey with a dash of honey.” she’s not sure if she even has Earl Grey, but she knows without a doubt she has honey. Much to her delight, there’s a tin of what smells like Earl Grey tucked behind the flour. “Tell me about yourself.” the query takes her off guard, nearly dropping the tin as she sets it on the counter.

“Such as…?” Hen huffs, checking on his eggs.

“Your name would be a decent start.” He punctuates his words with something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh and she almost wants to box his ears. Almost.

“My name’s Hen.”

“What? Just the one word?”

“No, my full name is Henrietta Morrison.” she answers, pulling his eggs and bacon from the pan to a plate. “But it’s a mouthful, so I’ve just been Hen for… well a while now.” there’s a tightening in her chest and it can’t be sadness because she’s not lonely. “There, your tea’ll be ready in a tick or two.” Hen turns back to the stove. “How about you? You have a name?”

“Emet-Selch.” the reply comes slowly, but she doesn’t think much of it. Not when she’s trying to decide between sage or pepper. “What is it you do here exactly?”

“Keep the lighthouse here.” she replies as the kettle screeches to be pulled from the stove. Peppering her eggs was definitely the better option, it smells heavenly. Soon enough, her eggs and bacon are ready. But first, she gathers sugar, honey and the last of the milk onto a tray, grabbing her favored mug and a spare and setting them on the table. The kettle and tins of coffee and tea soon follow.

Hen sighs as she finally sits down, dressing her coffee. Emet-Selch seemingly scowls at her, tea already steeping.

“Coffee, such an uncultured beverage.” he snorts.

“I don’t have the time to sip tea like a proper lady, coffee’s easy and gets the job done.” she retorts. Emet-Selch simply gives her that not-quite smile, adding a spoonful of honey to his tea.

“And therein lies the rub. Because of its simplicity, it lacks refinement. You simply throw in something else to make it palpable and drink. There’s no time taken to savor the flavor, granted I believe it lacks that.”

Hen just frowns at him between forkfuls of her eggs. “Well, mayhap when I’m retired I can sample all the tea I like, for now I just drink my uncultured coffee.” she retorts. Emet-Selch cocks his head to the side, stirring his tea.

“So, you keep the lighthouse here? What exactly does that entail?” There’s a gentle curiosity in his eyes and Hen finds it odd.

“Well, I keep the lamp fueled and running, along with the clockwork that keeps the lens turning, and I clean the lens. Then I clean the house and repair any damages that happen over time and-” Hen trails off, ears burning as she slumps. “... This probably isn’t very interesting to you is it?”

“Quite the contrary my dear,” Emet-Selch waves his spoon with a flourish, picking up his tea. “I find it rather fascinating.” He looks around. “Although… you do seem to be the only one here. Do you do all this alone?”

Hen nods slowly. “It’s just me here.”

“That’s impossible.” Emet-Selch replies incredulously. “You mean to tell me you care for a lighthouse of this size alone?”

Hen nods again. “I do.” His eyebrows rose into his hairline once more.

“Quite a tenacious little thing aren’t you?” His eyes crinkle in what seems to be the first genuine smile from him, taking a sip of his tea. A scowl follows as he picks up the tin. “This isn’t Earl Grey. What in the world is this then?” Emet-Selch shakes the tin, as if the sound will help him discern which kind it is.

Hen sputters, clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle what definitely isn’t a laugh. Emet-Selch looks up at her, confusion writ all over his face.

“What are you-” Before he can even finish, the definitely not-a-laugh escapes in full, followed by a stream of giggles. Emet-Selch stares at her incredulously, before sighing. “Well, best get it out of your system now.”

She’s not sure how long the fit lasts, but she’s breathless and dizzy once it’s over. Emet-Selch looks down his nose at her like she’s something gross he’s stepped in. “What in the world was that all about?” if it weren’t for his confused tone it would’ve come out as a hiss.

“It’s...of all the things to complain about...tea.” Hen admits, wiping a tear from her eye. “Thank you though, it’s been far too long since I’ve laughed like that.” Emet-Selch’s eyebrows raise again.

“I know I said tenacious, but now I’m starting to wonder if you’re not simply mad.” he sighs, getting up. “Thank you for breakfast… and the rescue, but I’m afraid I must-” Hen knows exactly what he’s going to say, which is why she drains the rest of her cold coffee and stands.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He seems taken aback by the sternness in her voice, and in all honesty she is as well. “First, there’s no boats here. Second, only a madman would even consider swimming back to shore this soon after a squall. And third, even if you happened to be the star’s greatest swimmer, you’re injured and there’s no way in all seven hells I’m letting you open up that wound again or worse— get it infected.”

His face seems to go through a few expressions in a matter of seconds, before finally his shoulders slump, a wry look in his eye. “Well, you’ve certainly made your point clear. Seeing as you intend to turn this lighthouse into my jail cell, what would you have me do?” he asks. Hen smiles, gathering up the plates and handing them to him.

“The washing up, there’s a rag and soap in the cupboard under the sink. While you do that, I’m heading outside to assess any damages the storm caused last night.” she chirps, the stunned look in his eye filling her with a giddy feeling. “Can you handle that?”

Emet-Selch’s eyes glitter with mischief. “I do believe I can.”

* * *

The wind whips harshly as Hen makes her way round the exterior of the lighthouse. Cape Hydaelyn’s Light is a hardy thing, the only true damages are in areas she’d already slated for repairs; there’s a few loose bricks here and there and the weakest boards gone. A hand traces over where a board once laid. She’s going to need to inform the tender when they arrive that she needs wood and nails.

“Ah, there you are.” A voice has her whirling around, turning to see Emet-Selch slowly making his way toward her. “You never came back, so I got a touch worried.” She moves forward to meet him, both of them stopping half way. “I’ve finished the dishes, they’re currently drying, but I’d no idea on where to put them, so I went to find you.” he continues, still favoring her with that gaze that makes Hen unsure of whether he’s looking at or through her.

“I’ll take care of it once we head back in.” Hen responds, looking up at the lighthouse. “Lighthouse weathered the storm well enough, but I’ll need wood.” there’s a note of fondness in her voice and Emet-Selch turns his gaze towards her home.

“A light piercing through mist and fog, marking a port...and civilization.” he murmurs, turning his eyes towards her again. “And you tend to it.”

“Yes.” she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little taken aback by the simple, yet poetic words. Hen’s eyes fall to Emet-Selch’s sides, remembering the wound there. “How’s your injury?”

“Holding up well, considering you don’t seem to be a healer.” he answers with a tilt of his head. “Of course with that in mind, we’ll have to make a trip to the mainland yes?” There’s a malicious glimmer in his eye and Hen just sighs.

“The only way we’re getting off this island is when the tender comes to collect us.” she folds her arms, shifting her weight to one foot. “‘Course given the storm, there’s no way of knowing if they’ll even arrive this sun.”

That strange smile of his appears on Emet-Selch’s face, before something behind her catches his eye. “Ah, and yet here they come.”

Hen turns on her heel, finding her eyes falling on the small pilot cutter making port at the small dock built into the side of the island. She doesn’t even wait for the tender to make it to them, simply rushing forward. A dozen paces away from the dock and it hits Hen that this isn’t the tender, her steps slowing. The new arrival is a lalafell in a strange coat, bright yellow a sharp contrast against the dark green waters beneath them.

“Oh dear,” the lalafell gasped. “I am terribly sorry to have kept you waiting.” She curtsies as Hen comes to a stop, just shy of the dock.

“You’re not the tender.” Hen folds her arms, hoping she isn’t glaring at the strange woman. The lalafell’s eyes widen, her expression of shock quickly replaced by a smile all too reminiscent of Thancred’s.

“No, I am not.” she acquiesces. “I am Krile Baldesion of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.” Hen resists the urge to scoff and roll her eyes. The last thing she needs is more of these Scions interrupting her work with their dodo chase. “I am however, here to do their work.”

That, has Hen interested. “Is Baderon okay?” she wouldn’t say she’s close to the old sailor, but if anything happened to him… Krile laughs, shaking her head.

“He’s perfectly fine dear. Repairs back on shore have his hands tied up, and he mentioned the much needed visit to the lightkeeper being delayed so I offered to go in his stead.” Krile explains. “I imagine you’ve quite the list of supplies you need and- Oh!” she stops, looking past Hen. “Baderon failed to mention the gentleman.”

Looking behind her, Hen spots Emet-Selch standing at the end of the dock. Turning her attention back to Krile, Hen finds the lalafell with a hand over her mouth, cheeks turning rosy. “And a striking one too, lucky girl.” There’s something like delight in Krile’s eyes and looking between the two, Hen finally pieces the puzzle together, feeling her ears burning.

“W-Wait we’re not- I mean he isn’t-” she stammers, hands over her face as she struggles to find her words. Emet-Selch chuckles behind her and Hen wishes a freak wave would come and sweep them all out to sea.

“I’m merely a lost soul who washed upon shore during the storm. Had it not been for the lightkeeper here, I imagine the cold and my wounds would have ended me.” A hand descends on her shoulder, pulling Hen closer to him. She can feel the warmth of his fur coat, this close he smells of seawater and something she can’t put a finger on...familiar yet far off.

“Wounds? Suppose we’ll need to stop by the healer then.” Krile smiles. Hen can practically feel Emet-Selch’s smirk behind her as she tries to will the color to drain from her face.

“I can think of a few things we need.” Had it not been for the purr in his voice, Hen could pretend the words were innocent, but she can feel his breath on the shell of her ear. “Some more than others.” she can feel the low whisper all the way down her spine where it only redoubles the ache settling beneath her skin and— wait why is there an aching?

“Well, there’s precious little sunlight left, come on you two!” Krile starts off for the pilot cutter with a hand at her hood, Emet-Selch’s fingers letting go to follow after the lalafell.

“Aren’t you coming?” the question has Hen startling, pulled from her daze. Able to focus again, she can see Krile waving and Emet-Selch standing halfway between the cutter and herself.

“H-Huh?” she hates how unsure she sounds, she’s never been unsure of anything and Emet-Selch smirks, seemingly amused by how off center she is.

“What? Do you expect me to read your mind and instantly know what the lighthouse needs?” he scoffs. “Come along now little bird, before the sun sets.” Hen feels her cheeks heating up for the second time in a bell, one time far too many.

“L-Little bird?” she squawks, marching towards him. Emet-Selch merely chuckles with a rise of his shoulders.

“Yes, a little seabird living alone.” he slowly makes his way onto the cutter, turning to hold a hand out to her. “Or would you rather I call you something else?”

Emet-Selch smiles that not-quite smile and motions for her to take his hand. Something akin to nervousness settles in Hen’s gut and she can’t shake the idea that the gesture means something deeper to him. Her hand rises, hesitating just ilms before his.

“I’d rather you call me by my name.” Hen declares. She lets her hand fall against his and Emet-Selch pulls her into him. Her feet are unsteady on the deck, legs wobbling. The choppy waves have the pilot cutter rocking and she can’t find her balance. An arm presses against her waist, pressing her into a warm chest as her feet finally steady.

Looking up, Hen sees Emet-Selch looking directly at her for once, that not-quite smile clear on his lips.

“I believe I can do that, Miss Hen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about the lightkeeper and her guest, but it seems Emet-Selkie knows more about Hen than he's letting on. Or at least is reminded of someone else.
> 
> Originally this chapter was going to be longer, including the trip to port along with a scene of Hen and Emet gathering crabs. But I felt the scene with them boarding the cutter was a good stopping point and decided to cut the chapter in half. Don't worry, next chapter will contain said trip. Not too sure about the crabs though.
> 
> Trivia fact: A cutter is a small sailboat with one or two masts, designed for speed more than anything else. As specified, a pilot cutter is a kind of cutter that's used to travel from harbor to larger sea vessels. Or in this case, from harbor to lighthouse.


	3. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the port leaves our lightkeeper with more than she bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [does the finger twiddle thing]
> 
> So uh...I have no excuses beyond life, laziness, and getting into new fandoms.
> 
> But the third chapter of the Emet-Selkie fic is finally here.
> 
> Enjoy my readers.

Hen could count the things she liked about Vesper Port on one hand. Unfortunately...the things she disliked about the town would need a sheet of parchment. Yet as their cutter pulls into port, all Hen can think of is the list of things she needs.

“Land h-” the pilot cuts himself off as she runs up onto deck and without even waiting for the gangplank, jumps from the boat to the pier. She can hear the stunned murmuring and whistling behind her, but she pays it no mind.

“O-Oh! Miss Morrison please wait.” Krile calls and Hen turns her head. Her diminutive tender seems a touch harried, one hand on her hood as she waits for the gangplank to be lowered. Emet-Selch soon follows, striding calmly down in comparison to Krile’s nervous steps.

“A charming little town no?” Emet-Selch inquires, odd smile on his lips and his eyebrows quirked. He stops just shy of a few ilms away from Hen and again he seems to be favoring her with that odd look.

“You’ve never been here?” she can’t help but ask, more than a little curious. Emet-Selch simply shrugs his shoulders.

“No. Have you?” he asks and Hen sighs with a nod.

“Yeah. Every few weeks the tender takes me to the mainland to gather things.” she explains, her eyes finding Krile standing at their feet.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to shop for your supplies while I take your guest to the healer. Any objections?” Krile explains, taking Emet-Selch’s coat in lieu of his hand. Hen shakes her head, but Emet-Selch rolls his eyes before looking down at the lalafell and if Hen didn’t know any better she’d assume he was looking down his nose.

“Oh if you insist.” he sighs, gaze falling to Hen. “But how are we to know when Miss Hen here is done?” he asks and Krile turns to her.

“You know where the healer is yes?” she asks. Hen nods and Krile smiles. “Once you’re done come find us there, if we aren’t already at the docks that is.” she laughs, pulling at Emet-Selch’s coat. “Come along.”

Emet-Selch rolls his eyes once more, but follows regardless. “See you soon Miss Hen.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


If nothing else, Vesper Port’s markets more than made up for any issues Hen had with the city itself. The spare milk crate given to her by the dairy farmers’ is nearly overflowing with goods by the time she manages to make it to her last stop. The local blacksmith’s has the fire crystals she needs for the lighthouse and the nails for repairs. From what they discussed during the trip to the mainland, the pilot would be taking care of the boards. Pushing her way into the shop, Hen can only hope the fellow gets it right.

“One moment!” she can hear from the back as she sets her milk crate down. No sooner does a miqo’te come flying out, soot smudging his face. “Pleasure seeing you here Miss Lighthouse.” he greets. Hen recognizes him as U’val Tia, one of the apprentices of the main blacksmith. “‘ssuming you need the usual crystals?” he chatters, ducking down beneath the shop counter.

“And nails. Usual length.” Hen pipes up, looking around the shop. U’val makes humming noises, tail waving as he stood up, a small chest and a nail box in his arms..

“Should do ya right?” he asks. Hen opens the box of nails, a smile on her face as she fishes her coin purse from her pockets. A few moments to count and she’s passing over the gil needed, free hand slipping the box of nails into her milk crate. “Take care Miss Lighthouse.” he waves.

Hen gives him an ‘mhm’, opening the small chest. Fire crystals, enough to keep the lamp fueled for at least another moon. There’s a flash of blue among the red and she blinks, her hand pushing through the crystals. Nestled among the red, is a bright blue shard. ‘Did he give me a water on accident?’ she wonders.

“U’val?” her call receives no answer and she nips at the inside of her cheek. ‘Weird.’ She muses, shutting the chest and putting it in her milk crate. She’s not going to look a gift chocobo in the beak, the water crystal will get used somehow.

* * *

  
  


The healer’s wasn’t too far off from the blacksmith’s, something that often made Hen wonder if the two shops were close for a reason. Shoulder pushing against the door, a bell tinkles above her head as she walks in. She can see Krile sitting at a chair, the lalafell turning her head at the sound.

“Perfect timing Miss Morrison.” Krile hums, pointing to the hall. Following the motion, Hen can see Emet-Selch walking back, a scowl on his face.

“So? Anything worth noting?” Hen can’t help but tease. Emet-Selch looks down his nose at her, a disgusted noise coming from his throat.

“He’s lucky the wound’s not infected. Nasty laceration, from where he wouldn’t say. Not to mention the sloppy stitches.” the roe following behind Emet-Selch holds a poultice in his hand, placing it in Hen’s milk crate. “No strenuous work for the time being, rebandage the wound every few suns and have him put that on it with every rebandaging.” the healer explains, tapping the bottle.

Hen tilts her head. “Wait, shouldn’t he be at an inn?” she asks. Emet-Selch snorts. 

“With what coin?” he asks. “At the very least, I can work for my room and board at the lighthouse.”

“Fine.” Hen shrugs, finding herself oddly put out at the thought of this strange man staying in her home. She looks over to Emet-Selch, who seems about as put out as she is. “Well...shall we go?” she asks. He looks back to her, and the beginnings of that not-quite smile graces his lips.

“We should, daylight’s fading.”

* * *

The walk back to the docks is mostly silent, their footsteps the only sound to grace their ears beyond the sounds of the dockwrights working. The cutter is still there when they arrive, and this time Hen walks up the gangplank with the others.

“Not going to jump?” Emet-Selch asks, the tone teasing. Hen rolls her eyes.

“You want me to drop your poultice in the water?” she replies, surprised at the teasing tone in her own voice. Emet-Selch just snorts at her.

“No, no I do not.” he answers as they move below deck. Hen sets her milk crate on a nearby table, sighing as she stretches her arm. She’s not looking forward to carrying the crate up the hill to the lighthouse. Emet-Selch sits down in one of the chairs, his eyes on the crate.

“What did you get?” he asks.

“Supplies for the lighthouse and food. Nothing too important.” she answers, looking through the crate to verify everything. She can hear footsteps behind her, and out of the corner of her eyes she sees Krile walking over to Emet-Selch. Everything in the crate seems to be in place.

Hen opens the chest of crystals once more, and that strange blue crystal is still there, nestled with the fire crystals as if it's always been meant to be there. Hen tilts her head, nipping at the inside of her cheek once more.

'_ Would Krile know? _' she wonders. The Scions did seem to know much and more about crystals. 

At least more than her.

"Miss Krile?" Hen speaks up, waving a hand in hopes of better getting the lalafell's attention. Krile and Emet-Selch both turn to look at her.

"Yes Miss Hen?" at the other woman's reply, Hen stands, reaching her hand into the chest. The blue crystal is warm to the touch, much to her surprise. She holds it out for Krile to see.

"Do you know what this-" Before she can even finish, the crystal hovers above her outstretched palm, a small warm light emanating from it. She can hear Krile gasping, but a clattering has her eyes falling to Emet-Selch, rising from his chair. Hen's faintly aware of her knees giving way, of her body falling, of the way Emet-Selch's eyes look wild and...afraid?

When Hen opens her eyes again, all she can see is a deep, vast blue. The blue here is strange, not the blue-green of the ocean, nor is it the blue of the sky. It's a hue all of its own, and by all means it should unnerve her. But it doesn't. All she can feel is herself floating in the vastness of...wherever she is.

And then, she hears it.

'** _Hear, Feel, Think..._ **'

Perhaps hears it isn't quite right, because she feels the words as much as hears them. They emanate from somewhere beyond her, yet reverberate in her chest. Where there was once simply darkness, there's a gentle warm light. There's a light tug, and Hen feels herself move forward.

The tugging ends and Hen looks up to see a massive, glowing crystal. Eyes wide in amazement, she stares up at it. It...almost resembles the crystal she was holding earlier, but larger. It feels warm, comforting near the crystal and it's here that Hen realizes the light is coming from the crystal.

'** _Bringer of Light, I am Hydaelyn. All made one._ **'

Somehow, she realizes the crystal is talking to her. Hen can only float before the cryst- Hydaelyn she mentally corrects. She can feel satisfaction not her own flowing through her, and knows it's Hydaelyn.

'** _Long have I watched over this star, protecting it. But for as long as I, darkness hath watched as well, biding its time. As such, I beseech thee._ **'

Hen blinks. Something about Hydaelyn feels...familiar, like a voice she's heard before or…

'** _Darkness lies in the deepest of depths, bring Light where there is none, and banish the Dark._ **'

The request sits with her oddly. "B-But!" Hen begins, moving forward. "I'm just a lightkeeper, not a hero!" she cries. The only dark she banished was that at sea, not some primordial thing. Hydaleyn says nothing, but Hen can feel Her gaze.

'** _My child, go forth and shine thy light upon all creation._ **'

"B-But I'm not a hero!" Hen continues to shout. She can feel Hydaelyn floating away and rushes for Her with outstretched hands. "W-Wait! Come back please!"

Everything feels hazy and for the first time in this place, she feels fear. Something is pulling her downward and she lets it, surrendering herself to the flow-

_ The water is cold, lapping at her thighs. Her fingertips brush over the surface, sending droplets rising. Hands lift and the droplets float higher, shining in the sunlight like pearls. He stands before her at the water's edge, and she knows full well the scowl on his face is just for show, knows full well his heart is breaking in time with hers. "My love...please. Smile for me one last time." she begs. His brows raise, mouth opening to speak- _

"iss Hen? Miss Hen!"

She awakens with a jolt, eyes focusing to find Krile and Emet-Selch staring at her with paired looks of worry. They don't quite match though, where there's concern in Krile's eyes, there's genuine terror in Emet-Selch's and for once, she misses the malicious gleam that makes his not quite smile. Krile presses a hand to Hen's forehead, as if to check for a fever.

"Oh, goodness gracious you gave us quite the scare. One moment you were standing and the next you weren't." Krile's hand rises and the lalafell begins wringing both of them. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine." oddly enough, Hen is. Waking up from this feels nothing like the time she awoke from fainting after carrying crabs in from a storm. There she felt weak and boiling, here...here she feels the same as before fainting. "I just...had a weird dream."

"A dream? You were only out for perhaps five ticks." Emet-Selch's eyebrows furrow. "Whatever did you see?" Hen feels something shift behind her and her cheeks flush the instant she realizes he's holding her.

"I...saw a giant crystal." she replies. The furrow in Emet-Selch's brow deepens.

"A giant crystal? How peculiar." Krile chimes in. "Was there anything else of note?" Hen can't shake the expectant feeling she's getting from Krile and thinks back. Hydaelyn and Her ridiculous request and what followed.

"No."

Krile looks almost...let down, but she nods.

"I see, and you're certain you're okay now?"

"Yes."

Emet-Selch lets out a huff of air, standing up and helping Hen to her feet. The hard lines of his face seem harsher, irritated. Hen tries to shrink back, only for his hand at her back to stop her.

"As curious as this event is, I imagine our Lightkeeper needs a moment or two to compose herself Miss Baldesion." The tone of his voice is back to normal, but there's a strain in his face, as if he's only acting calm.

"Ah, yes of course of course." Krile gestures to one of the chair. "Please, sit." Emet-Selch nudges her forward, Hen doesn't stumble this time as she makes her way to the chair, sitting down.

"Do you need a drink?" Krile asks and Hen gets the distinct feeling the lalafell is the worrying sort.

"No, I'm fine."

* * *

The rest of the trip home is in silence. The moment the cutter pulls up to her tiny dock, Hen’s relieved. The walk down the gangplank is similarly silent, herself and Emet-Selch leaving. Krile stands on the deck of the ship, a worried look on her face.

“If anything else happens, be sure to send a message okay?” Krile calls. Hen just nods, adjusting her grip on the crate. Krile waves and the cutter pulls away from the dock, heading back to Port. Hen sighs, stepping forward. Movement catches her eye and she turns her head to the sight of a rope tied to the tiny dock, wooden buoy bobbing in the water.

In an instant, she’s setting her crate down, kneeling beside the edge of the dock to pull the rope. Footsteps follow and she doesn’t need to look back to know it’s Emet-Selch.

“What in the world are you doing?” he asks, dock boards creaking as he squats down next to her.

“Crap trap.” Hen replies curtly, focused on her task. There’s a touch more resistance in the rope this time; she can only hope for a good harvest. Emet-Selch seems content to watch her for the time being, that odd smile on his face as she brings the trap up and onto the dock.

Eyeballing the trap gives her an estimate of three adults and two juveniles. Careful hands pluck the younger crabs from the trap, letting them loose in ocean. Given time, perhaps they’ll return. Trap still open, Hen sighs, fingers brushing over the head of a crab.

Thunder is a simple enough spell, little more than static shock and the smell of ozone filling her nose. The trapped crabs fall easily to it, laying motionless in the metal frame holding them. Hen props the trap up onto her crate, picking them both up with grunt of effort. She turns to Emet-Selch to tell him she’s ready to keep moving, only to find him staring at her intently.

“What?” she asks.

“How did you do that?” The question clashes with his tone of voice, words implying he’s unfamiliar with the manipulation of aether, yet the gravity in them implies otherwise. Hen simply adjusts her grip on her things, moving to walk away.

“Thunder spell. Do they call it something else where you’re from?” Hen’s eyes are on the lighthouse, on home. Emet-Selch follows after and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was angry.

“No, t’is called Thunder there too. I meant how you cast a spell without something to focus the aether.” Emet-Selch huffs.

“I just did.” Hen replies. Emet-Selch makes an indignant noise.

“You cannot ‘just’ cast a spell without a foci. You need something to ensure the manipulated aether finds the right target lest it fizzle out into nothing or runs rampant and you my dear have no such thing on your person.” A hand finds her shoulder, holding it firm to stop her steps short.

Hen looks back at him to find a furrowed brow and eyes boring through her with an intensity that sends a shiver down her spine, it’s as if he’s trying to see straight to her core and pick it apart like she’s a mammet.

“Who are you?” he asks, the tone both cold yet something else, like he’s anticipating something more than just the verbal answer. Hen stares back, wishing that the question didn’t raise a dozen more in its wake.

“I’m Hen, the Lightkeeper of Hydaelyn’s Cape Lighthouse.” It’s the correct answer, yet it doesn’t feel like it, like there’s another that suits her more. Emet-Selch lets go of her, an oddly cold expression on his face.

“Very well Miss Lightkeeper, very well.”

* * *

Neither of them speak for the rest of the walk to the lighthouse. When they arrive, Hen moves to set her things down to open the door, but Emet-Selch already has his hand around the knob before the crate is on the ground.

“Allow me.” he huffs, holding the door open for her, affecting a bow. Hen could only stare at him, before walking ahead. The slats of the crate creak as she sets it down on the table, slowly pulling the supplies from it. She can hear Emet-Selch’s footsteps as he crosses the floor, chair squeaking as he sits down.

“Not going to help?” She snarks, separating the foodstuff from the rest.

“I’ve no idea where anything goes.” he replies. “Besides, didn’t the healer say no strenuous activity?” Hen smacks the heel of her palm against her forehead.

“Are you always this petulant or have I just caught you on an odd sun?” she asks. Emet-Selch doesn’t answer, but Hen can feel his eyes on her as she works, filling the icebox before pulling a pot from the cabinets to begin boiling the crabs.

She’s halfway to the sink when he finally decides to break the silence.

"So, why did you lie to the tender?" Hen almost drops the pot there, turning on her heel to face him.

"What makes you think I was lying?" the question sounds far too much like a demand, even to her own ears and she knows it's the noose she's hanging herself by. Emet-Selch just smiles.

"When you thought about what you saw, you took much longer than one normally would if all they saw was a mere crystal. What else kept you from us?" he asks, fingers steepled in his lap.

Hen nips at the inside of her cheek. "It spoke to me. The crystal. Said I needed to bring light somewhere." she answers, gently setting the crabs in the icebox. "But I already do that."

"Perhaps they meant to send you on a quest." Emet-Selch teases and Hen groans.

"Yeah right. As skilled in magic as I am, I'm no adventurer swinging a staff around. I'm just the Lightkeeper." she sighs, pressing her head against the box. "And...there's the other thing I saw."

"You saw something else?" From behind her, Emet-Selch sounds intrigued and she can only imagine the interest in his eyes.

"Well...I wouldn't say I saw it so much as..." Hen trails off, thinking back. Focusing brings to mind the bite of the water, the aether in the air around her. So vivid, as if, "Lived it. It was like I was revisiting a memory, down to every detail." she turns to look at Emet-Selch. "But, that's impossible isn't it?"

Emet-Selch stands, walking towards her. He stops mere ilms, gloved hands taking her own. Hen can feel her skin heat up, what in the hells is happening to her? She's only known him for maybe a sun and yet every action has her flushing like some courting lady. "My dear," there's fondness in his voice for the first time and it has her heart pounding. "Nothing is truly impossible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hydaelyn: Hello naughty children, it's time to save Eorzea.
> 
> Hen: Miss I just work here.
> 
> Despite that, she seems pretty capable with thaumaturgy, and it's something that even Emet's confused about. Wonder what's got his feathers all a'ruffle. Perhaps we'll have answers in the next chapter?
> 
> I would like to say that the next chapter won't take such a long wait...but I'm not keen on making promises I'm not sure I can keep. Either way, thank you for reading and thank you for your patience.

**Author's Note:**

> The lighthouse Hen cares for is inspired by the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse in North Carolina, although the cape as a whole is meant to invoke a New England aesthetic.
> 
> It's my fic, I can play with geography as I please goddamn it.
> 
> Tender refers to the lighthouse tender. In the case of lighthouses built on islands off the mainland, someone would be tasked with delivering mail and supplies to the lighthouse every few weeks.


End file.
